3: you're losing sight, you're losing touch

-:-

"Again."

Mai lets out a frustrated breath through clenched teeth, both hands folded into fists on top of the piano keys. Today's her fifth lesson at Davis Piano Studio, and her teacher, Oliver Davis, has decided to drill her with the two sets of scales she has just learned the other day. She mustn't stop until they've been polished to perfection, he demands. There's no clock inside the cramp practice room, and as much as she thinks it's been hours since they started, it's probably been only thirty minutes.

Before this, it's never crossed her mind how strenuous playing an instrument is—needing to memorize which note went to what key, having to repeat a single passage again and again until it rings perfectly. But the repetition she can endure; sitting still for long periods of time—that's where she falls short. She's been an athlete for as long as she can remember and being the figure skater that she is, it meant constant movement of her entire body, not just her hands.

Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out in one huff, she shuts her eyes and thinks back to how Oliver played the passage. It seemed so easy, the way his graceful fingers ghosted over the keys. He's teaching her to play scales with both hands right off the bat, telling her how she'll learn faster that way. These are a simple scales, he says. They aren't. She's a complete amateur when it comes to the piano but, as she goes over the F# major scale once more—nope. Nope nope nope. This is definitely is not "simple". This is like teaching a figure skating beginner a basic spin on just one foot when they haven't learned how to spin on two.

"Stop." Her teacher sighs, standing up from his seat at the farthest corner of the room—which isn't very far though, only three steps away. "Remember that you're still pushing the same keys, just from different octaves. Look." He motions for her to scoot over and he sits beside her on the bench, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

And without even looking at the keys, he then proceeds to perform the scale with speed and accuracy, never hesitating once.

"See? Easy. Now you do it."

Damn this arrogant teacher.

Her fingers still hurt from the twenty-three times (yes, she counted) he made her repeat the C major scale, but she pushes through nonetheless. She isn't the reigning 3-peat champion of the figure skating Nationals for nothing. Practice takes you places, and the piano is no different.

"Again. Mind your fourth finger."

Her butt is killing her. Old and worn, the leather padding of the bench she's sitting on has deflated to the point that it might as well have been removed. It's just as uncomfortable as the cold, plastic benches right outside a rink where the audience stays.

Her mind drifts to the ice, where her heart currently is. She longs to go back to feel cold wind blowing across her face, to hear the sound of blades gliding through, to experience the adrenalin of a successful jump. What she would do to go back, to prepare for next season's choreography. She can already envision it—she'll make a comeback with a short program of maximum difficulty, peppered with triples everywhere, then a triple toe-half loop-triple salchow combination followed immediately by a combination spin. Her heart jumps in anticipation—her step sequence will reminisce a gypsy's carefree dance, going faster and faster until the music reaches a dramatic decrescendo . . . she slows down to her favorite Ina Bauer, and then—a quad!

Her third finger overreaches on the piano, pressing down a white key instead of black.

Oliver sighs again—he does that a lot—and pinches the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "Let's take a three-minute break."

"Yes!" With both hands outstretched above her head, Mai stands up abruptly, but the back of her knees hit the piano bench with an unexpectedly large force. Her face twists from joy to agony. She bites her lip so she doesn't whimper, tries not to curl into herself in pain as her left leg throbs. "A-ah, Teacher. Is it okay—is it okay for me to go to the kitchen for a sec? I think I—fuck, I need water."

Eyes wide and brows high, Oliver is surprised at hearing her curse for the first time. He scrutinizes her strained smile. "Sure. You know where it is."

Mai brings her bag along with her and shuffles out the door and down the hallway. She tries to hide the small limp she has, but of course she can't fool anyone. Every step shoots lightning from her knee down to her toes. Tears threaten to fall, but not because of the pain—because of frustration. How long will she be like this?

When she reaches the kitchen, she takes out her medicine bottle from one of her bag's pockets and drops her bag to the floor. There isn't a cup or glass in sight—nor are plates and utensils; Oliver probably keeps them all in the cupboards. She opens one of the cabinets below and see only plates, then opens the cupboards above and find mugs. She can't reach them.

An arm darts up from behind her, taking a mug and handing it to her. Mai looks behind her and comes face-to face with Oliver—their noses literally two centimeters apart. He looks at her with an unreadable expression, his eyes searching hers—yet without a hint of curiosity, as if he already knows what he's looking for. It's as if he knows who she is—what she's done to his brother.

Mai averted her gaze and faces forward, heart stuck in her throat, her stomach twisting in anxiety. Oliver backs away and sits on one of the two chairs at the small dining table.

"Thanks," Mai mumbles as she fills the mug with water. She takes two pills to her mouth and lifts the mug to her lips, gulping down everything with her eyes clenched shut. It'll take ten minutes for her medicine to kick in. She just has to wait.

She sighs. Her knee's still throbbing, but it isn't as painful as a while ago. With the mug still nestled in her hands, she turns around and leans back onto the counter. Oliver is looking at her with that same unreadable expression.

"What are you playing at, Mai Taniyama?" he asks suddenly. The air around Mai shifts—it grows heavier by the second, anymore and it might bring her down too.

"Wh-what? What are you talking about?" she asks back, lifting the mug once more and drinking nothing. It's already been emptied.

"I know who you are. What exactly are you doing in this rundown piano studio?" He folds his arms and faces her squarely.

"I—I just—" Rather than her knee, now her heart was throbbing, it's beat a hellish tempo.

"You're a representative for the next Winter Olympics, aren't you. What are you doing wasting time and money in my studio."

"I'm sorry, okay I didn't mean to! It all went so fast—he was right there and I didn't see and everything went black and—" Mai blinks. "What?"

"What?" he echoes, blinking in confusion as well.

"I—um. Yeah, uh." Mai's eyesight swirls faster and faster by the minute. "I'm a figure skater, yes, how did you know that?" She laughs, trying to alleviate the mood, although it just sounds like she's in pain. "I-I told you the first time we met—I just want to, haha, learn how to play the piano!"

Rolling his eyes, he lets out a huff of breath and stands. "If you're done messing around, let's get back to the practice room. I have one more arpeggio to teach you today."

Mai watches as his back grows further and further away down the hallway.

It's okay, it's fine. He still doesn't know.

-:-

a/n: Friendly reminder that I don't actually know how to play the piano, just the violin. which i can't even play well. I honestly don't know why I didn't just make this a violin au. (i blame kdrama)

shameless plug time! please check out my new oneshot 'Yearly Mark'~~~ it's a timetravel story I made for the Davis twins' birthday :D